


asymptotic

by nats_zoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Break Up, F/M, Falling Out of Love, Hurt No Comfort, Lowercase, abstract again whoopie, have fun with this???, just really confusing again, okay not abstract
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nats_zoo/pseuds/nats_zoo
Summary: you did your best to dedicate yourself to whatever distant concept of love you’d created in your head, and you’re sure kiyoomi tried too, for a short amount of time. but life was never ideal for you and you soon came to learn that your connection with each other was not any definition of loving.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	asymptotic

**Author's Note:**

> this is like,,,,, pretty bad. unedited and sort of rushed but this is yet another instance of me desperately trying to write out partially-abstract concepts as soon as possible. it's kind of all over the place and definitely not concise.  
> but i'll let all of you be the judge of that! please tell me what you think of this, good or bad, and ways i can improve :)

it wasn’t something you could blame him for. it was a mutual falling-out-of-love, something embraced shamefully by both sides. it was sad and hollow, the way you and kiyoomi seemed to drift apart at sea, the tides of fate pushing and pulling and dragging and drowning any feelings you had to the twilight zone of the water, where the water was dark and thick and pressed against your skull like heavy metal. 

you did your best to dedicate yourself to whatever distant concept of love you’d created in your head, and you’re sure kiyoomi tried too, for a short amount of time. but life was never ideal for you and you soon came to learn that your connection with each other was not any definition of loving. 

you don’t know how it had started--a slow slipping into mutual adoration, perhaps, which led to dates and the discussion of an “official” title (you distinctly remember the pride that swelled through your veins when he called you his _girlfriend_ for the first time). your home wasn’t shared, but you spent enough time at his apartment for it to be considered _shared._

but those nights slowly became more scarce as time went on, with you spending wakeless nights at your own apartment as his was left desolate, clothes packed as he left on another trip for a tournament, or game, or whatever came up this time around. 

you realized, as these nights thinned out into nothing, that you two were never really as close as other people--and while you’d tried to push it off as how he loved, you were quick to realize that this was just some weird agreement to lock pinkies and spend nights on the couch and make love slowly and tenderly whenever the need to be cared for arose with you both. 

maybe you were just bitter, that he could be so passionate and dedicated and determined about something while you were still struggling to find a passion. maybe you were angry that you had supported him through the parts of his career he opened you up to while he never bothered to encourage you in return as you tried to find jobs and majors and careers where you would be satisfied. 

maybe an ugly mix of both is what had led to unsettlingly quiet discussions on the couch with the television a distant light and hum in the background to fill any empty space left by the lingering glances between you and kiyoomi (not romantic--never romantic anymore, just knowing and hollow and sad, purely sad because you both understood so much from the mix of the colors of your gazes). 

you remember a certain night, so vivid you could write stories about it in varying tones and styles and emotions. it was late--you didn’t know the time but the moon ceased its incessant rays of cool light and it was purely dark in kiyoomi’s apartment--you found yourself there despite the inappropriate time and had laid in the couch, trying to immerse yourself in what was once was a familiar scent that couldn't even be found in the untouched cotton of the neatly folded blanket he kept on his couch and never used unless he was with you. 

kiyoomi unlocked the door, walked through, and saw you, letting out a short, almost nonexistent gasp of surprise at the sight of your form on the couch, unmoving. he mumbled your name in a blank tone, but after repaying it in your head you found a hint of guilt and understanding, an odd mix for the situation. you turned to look at him, your lover, in the doorway, the dim lights of his apartment hallway turning him into an undetailed silhouette. 

“hi.” you mumbled, voice strained with emotion (but _not_ tears, you assured yourself), and you were both still and silent. you blinked once, then twice, and turned your head back to face the ceiling. 

“i missed you.” you said simply. 

“i know.” he said simpler. 

it was that interaction, those short phrases passed down in clipped voices that acted as the resignation between you two as lovers. and you laughed at the thought of that, that you two had to give up as lovers when you had never felt _too_ loved by him in the first place. there was never a time you considered yourself lovers, more of just the modernized titles of “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” -- but “lovers” seemed to sophisticated and meaningful and too _feeling_ for the abstract connection you and kiyoomi had. 

you cried on his couch that night, and he sat with you, your legs splayed along his lap where his hands rested, a constant warming heat on your skin. 

you took your clothes that morning, whatever few shirts you left in his apartment (not many, as he normally would make sure you cleaned up after yourself, stingy with cleanliness as he was), and he watched you from the doorway of his bedroom ( _your_ bedroom, at one point, you hoped--a collective ownership of that bedroom that you’d dreamed of from the start), silently standing with hands stiffly at his side. you didn’t check his eyes for emotions--you knew looking at them would cause a whirlwind of feelings of your own and you couldn’t bear to cry at the moment. 

he watched you go that morning, and as much as you wanted to give him a proper farewell you knew you couldn’t, or shouldn’t. as much as you wanted to pull him close to you and embrace him and squeeze him with as much vigor as you had, in the closest hug you could give (something that was very rare for you to share with him due to his detached demeanor towards physical affection), and as much as you wanted to kiss him, simply and softly and passionately, and have it act as a seal for the envelope encasing the draft of this chapter of your lives, you knew you shouldn’t, because maybe you’d try too hard to salvage an intimacy that was not there in the first place, and make the most of a falsified intimacy you both had manifested over months of pining for some kind of meaning in relationships. 

you left that morning, with remnants of what once was and what could have been, in an alternate timeline, clutched tightly to your chest in a closed fist with chipped nail polish and callouses. it was silent, and you saw the flutter of a birds wings flit through a window in his apartment, fitting to your evasion of a life that simply couldn't satisfy either of you, even in materialistic desires and tangible items and twisted ideals. 

kiyoomi let go of you that morning, with dark eyes and a strangely hollow feeling penetrating through his lungs, reminding him of the months you both spent with shallow, surface-level habits that you adjusted to in order to convince others and yourselves that this was the ideal life with a lover. 

he wasn’t sad to let you go, you knew. he was sad that you’d both let this go on for long enough to make it hurt when you finally left.


End file.
